Chapter Text
Friday Night (June 30th)
42… Holy fucking shit…
42..
As Greg looked at himself in the mirror wearing a white shirt and brown leather jacket, you could see the tiredness, dull look that habited his face, which had been the same look for many years now. Back then it all seemed like the beginning of a happily-ever-after marriage but was actually a straight fall to the end of any form of happiness.
He didn't expect it to be so bad, so fast.
So many divorce stories and marriage jokes, they all sounded funny at the time, and Greg blamed himself for laughing at some of that in the past. Now the joke was on him, and is really not that funny.
He never thought he would be such a failure at his own marriage. It was as if all that was left was fights and arguments, which he no longer had the energy to scream or defend himself from, everything became a mixture of "hmm" and apologies, even though most of the time he didn’t even knew why he was apologizing for, no longer mattered anyway.
"Gregory, let's go, I'll be late." Clara's voice sent shivers through Greg's body, like a ghost howling through the walls.
“Coming.“ he said making his way to the car, driving in silence through the streets to Clara’s friend, Alice.
Greg leaned across the bench to kiss her but was stopped by an icy hand on his chest.
“Lip Gloss”
“Right.. Are you coming to the bar tonight?“ Greg asked, hoping to spend the first few minutes of his birthday with all the people he cares about, besides his sister, who unluckily have cold and didn’t had the strength to leave the house and travel all the way from Maidstone.
"With all those self-centered colleagues of yours?" She let out an “Hmf” at the end of the sentence, as if the question was too ridiculous to deserve an answer.
"They're nice, c’mon…” Greg sighed looking down the street "Please, it's my birthday party, and I want to spend it with you." He took her hand and leaned his head back against seat, offering her a fond look, which had no effect on her.
Without an answer, she left.
Even though the two of them would gossip about how rude and possessive Greg had been these past few months, he didn't care so much anymore, exhaustion was the only real feeling left on his body.
He was a mess. He knew that.
Upon arriving at work, he was greeted by everyone with affection and questions about tonight, Sally was waiting for him with a hot coffee. Some of his colleagues were so kind to gift him little souvenirs in celebration, in the end Greg had a paper bag containing chocolates, a new tie - which he had no idea when he would wear it, maybe in court - and some birthday cards with nice messages of the crew.
For a few hours Greg was able to forget about the chaos that awaited him at home, and he was relieved to arrive at his apartment to find it empty.
As much as Greg felt most of the time alone inside his own house, it seemed that when he was really alone, a sense of relief would invade his now tight chest, guilty of feeling so relaxed in these situations.
Opting for a red wine shirt and dark pants, Greg left in a hurry, afraid of being late for the bar - fighting the real reason that was arriving before Clara and avoiding fights. -
7:48pm…
Good, in time…
He took a taxi to the bar, knowing he would probably drink tonight, he didn’t want any problems. He watched the streets of London to the sound of Elton John, something in Elton's voice soothed Greg in a way he couldn't explain, as if hugging him when he needed it most. He mentally thanked the driver.
Upon arriving at the bar, he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he realized he had arrived in time to avoid an unnecessary arguments.
Sally, Anderson, Josh, John, Sherlock - oh, what a surprise uhu? - Mycroft….
Wait, what?
Mycroft’s face seemed to soften as Greg’s eyes catches his. It wasn't news to him that the silver-haired, tan-skinned man had something that make his lower belly tense up, but he was trained enough not to let any of that surface in his facial expression.
After everyone warmly welcomed Greg to the table, something caught Mycroft's attention. Something in his expression showed that something was bothering him, his eyes roamed the room and several times stared at the door and entrance, hoping for something.
His wife.
Mycroft straightened in his chair after taking a sip of his whiskey with icy ice, looking around to catch everyone chatting about trivial everyday things, gossip, stories.
Why did I agreed to come?
Sherlock wasn't going to get through this situation alone, and Mycroft owed him a favor, it could have been something simpler like hiding a dead body, but no, birthday parties…
"M’gonna smoke, not going to take long, anyone joining?" Greg spoke clearly tiredly, empathizing with the sentiment, Mycroft rose from his chair receiving a sidelong glance from Sherlock, which he immediately ignored.
"I'll join you."
The two walked out side by side from the room too noisy for the ears, loud voices and ambient music that seemed to annoy more than relax.
"Free day at work?" Greg said, holding out his cigarette box towards him, Mycroft accepted with a nod - Camel.
"Not really, just keeping my eye on Sherlock." He spoke trying to make up a story that anyone would likely believe.
"Fair enough." Greg said, lighting his cigarette between his lips holding a hand up to block the wind.
No wedding ring…
Mycroft leaned forward as both of Greg's hands reached out to light his cigarette.
Thick fingers, short ones, chubby palm, nails done.
Tendency to sensuality.
Definitly sensual.
Stop-
The ring… Probably in one of his pockets, she should be here, she is late, she is not coming at all.
Poor man.
The almost brutal drag on the cigarette only indicated how annoyed Greg was, his eyes kept on the streets, as if seeking comfort, some kind of clue as to where he was going to take from now on.
Submissive reaction.
His look only indicated how troubled his mind was, however he kept grounded, not showing any of that on his body expression.
Used to this.
"A favor, huh?" Greg asked, confident of the answer, he himself had already had a pretty large share of favors paid to Sherlock.
"Hopeful the last one." Mycroft lifted his chin as he exhaled smoke from his lungs, earning a short laugh from Greg's throat.
Shit, the man is charming.
“Not used to birthday parties, are you?” Greg struck up a conversation after 3 silent drags between them.
"Not quite, besides, a bottle of Château Latour before bedtime seems more promising than most parties." Mycrot stared at the cigarette resting between his fingers as he finished the sentence, now looking into the eyes of the man beside him, which welcomed him by sharing a grin.
Château Latour? Would pay my rent for a year - Greg thought.
“Party for one, then? I should have opted for one of those.” he managed to think of himself sitting alone in his house, or somewhere else more quiet, having a proper night of sleep after jerking off his frustrations on another place rather than the shower.
Im free tonight.
Christ, Mycroft, keep your mind in place!
"I can't answer this question for you, DI Lestrade." Mycroft gave his cigarette a gently tap with his index finger, looking at the ashe flying through the wind.
"Greg.. Please, call me Greg, I’m not working tonight," he said tilting his head forward, "maybe I'll end the night by the side of a road somewhere, sounds even more suitable."
Mycroft couldn't form enough words for a sentence, even though the desire was quite promising for him too, after one of the most stressful days of his entire life. He still could hear some of the formers agents shouting at him about a small - big - misunderstanding involving... Never mind, it was settled.
"Shall we go back?" Mycroft asked, reaching out, Greg nodded finishing his cigarette with a last drag, the touch of Mycroft's hand on his back as they entered sent shivers down his spine, making him wonder what the fuck did his body just told him .
After a few pints - and doses of whiskey - Greg found himself spending more time talking to Mycroft than any other guest.
Both had shared a common passion, old horror movies. Greg noted how enthusiastic Mycroft was to talk about the deeper details of each film, remembering each actor, date and, to his surprise, an in-depth study of human emotions put into practice in distorted ways by the actors.
For example how questionable Christopher Lee’s Dracula was in the matter of his brides - If he didn’t need them to fed up, he would probably have fallen in love with those women - in Mycroft’s words. Greg agreed.
The two men ended up sharing their favorite Dracula’s, Bella Lugosi in common but Mycroft made sure to bring Christopher Lee’s acting and personality again in the conversation, calling him “the sexier of them all.”, again Greg agreed with a smile and a nod.
Did we just share our common taste in men?
Mycroft's cheeks were pink, so was Greg’s, proving how much alcohol now was running through their veins. The men eyes were shinning, and a smile was now more aparent than ever before.
Jesus, the man is beautiful.
He is definitely my type, if…
For a moment Greg watched him speak but didn't hear a word. Thoughts of him ended up at some point in the past where Greg's interests were a little different, no girls in sight, in a way, he always missed those kind of senses .. Strong hands, manly scents, intimacy ..
Intimacy.
It had been a while since intimacy was more than a word, maybe he needed to read the dictionary to remember what it actually meant.
Mycroft caught something in Greg's expression, something that hadn't been there before, a look he knew very well what it meant but didn't expected to see, something on his lower belly tensed up, ignoring his amazing ability of turning off this type of body response - must be the alcohol.
Greg didn't care, after so many years of trying to be as faithful as possible and getting nothing but false accusations and curses being thrown at him, he didn't care anymore, it was over, and what's the big deal if Mycroft is a man? He had his experiencies before, he was tired of putting this toughs away, he was tired of being a crying piece of shit, he felt like a man tonight, and he was fancying another man.
His coworkers said the last goodbye, Greg excused himself and went to the bathroom, on his way back there was only Mycroft left, waiting at the door, no sign of John and Sherlock.
On his way to the counter, one of the waiters informed him that the bill had already been paid by the gentleman in a dark gray suit. Immediately his eyes returned to Mycroft's erect figure in the doorway, with his back turned to the bar, he thanked the waiter and withdrew.
"Are they gone?" Greg asked appearing beside Mycroft a few seconds later.
"Oh- Yea, they told me to thank you for the evening and wish you their very best wishes for the year ahead." Mycroft turned to the dark eyes that stared back at him.
"I should be thanking you, it's very kind of you." Greg smiled at Mycroft's tender eyes, blue as the sea, now a bit darker than before.
"It seemed appropriate since I didn't brought any gifts." Greg giggled at the point made - he did more than he knows -
"Perhaps a ride home?" Mycroft knew he had taken a taxi here, it would be rude not to offer a ride. He believed in his most honorable intentions.
"Sure, I would take that." Greg smiled and walked with him to the car parked in front of the bar - a fucking Bentley - his eyes grew bigger when he realized none of them were driving - a fucking Bentley and a fucking driver - He wasn't surprised, he knew Mycroft was a powerful man, but on a friday night?
"Thank you." Greg entered the car and something about the smell of Mycroft’s cologne and the feeling of lether under his tighs was way more arousal than he thought - shit.
Mycroft settled himself on the seat and the air seemed to get heavy, a silence took over the space until the blue eyes met his, that's when Greg noticed that he was staring.
"Adress?" Greg jumped in the seat realizing that the car was not moving waiting for instructions.
“The Queens Hotel, thanks.” He felt Mycroft grin, an almost feline act. The car left.
“An hotel? Expecting company later?” Mycroft asked without looking at Greg, as if part of him was afraid of losing himself.
"Maybe." Greg whispered and instantly closed his eyes - damn "I mean no… Not anymore… Maybe a bottle of wine to share the bed, sounds promissing huh?"
Fuck im drunk.
In Mycroft's car.
Mycroft’s.
“Indeed, Inspector. I hope you enjoy your night.” He smiled, now looking at Greg’s eyes, big mistake - he was not drunk but definitly happy.
The hotel wasn’t more than 15 minutes away.
Fucking 15 minutes.
Greg noticed how much Mycroft managed to maintain his composure in the car, as their scent mingled in the air and his knees pressed together at every turn. He misses sex, he misses being touched, wanted, needed, he missed hearing moans and whimpers.
He misses more being touched by a man.
Jesus Greg, not again with this.
Get over yourself, you’re married.
Am I? For how long will I keep being treated like this?
I want to have my bill paid at my birthday, I want to share a car without fighting over heat, what about all I want?
“I hope too. Haven’t got a good night of sleep in ages.” He sighed.
"Work?" Greg laughed a his own misery, getting a curious look in return from Mycroft.
"Yea, work." He didn't want to say the man was wrong, actually the word ‘no’ wasn't in his plans for the night, little did he know that wasn't in Mycroft's plans as well.